Padfoot's Story
by Avery-Lou
Summary: Sirius Black is nothing like his family, and when he comes to Hogwarts, it seems he may have a chance for a new beginning. Pranks and best friends and the wrath of his family - see it all through Padfoot's eyes.
1. Year One: Headmaster Stuff

**A/N: _Padfoot's Story_ is a series of oneshots and drabbles centered around one Sirius Black during his Hogwarts years. Before we start, let me warn you that this collection is a companion to the _James__ Potter_ series, which can be found on my profile. Since James and Sirius are very nearly inseparable, this fic will be updated infrequently, and most chapters are best read in the context of the main story, so I recommend you take a look at _James Potter and the __Immortal Icon_ when you've got the chance. You might also be interested in _Moony's Story_, _Wormtai__l's Story, _and _Lily's Story_ the other companions to the _James Potter_ series.  
**

**This chapter takes place during _James Potter and the Immortal Icon_, chapter 4.**

* * *

**Headmaster Stuff**

_"Well, would you look at that. Another Black."_

_ "If you put me in bloody Slytherin, I swear to Merlin I will rip you into tiny little pieces and feed you to a dragon."_

_ "That's a bit harsh, wouldn't you say? Although you must admit threats are right up old Slytherin's alley."_

_ "Sod off."_

_ "Not if you want me to Sort you any time soon. And you should know that I rather like to be in one piece for these things."_

_ "That so? Then you'd better not put me in Slytherin."_

_ "You seem awfully adamant about that for a member of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."_

_ "Mouldy and Most Rotten's more like it."_

_ "And what would your parents say if they heard you talking like that?"_

_ "I don't care a bleeding knut what they say. They can take their ruddy pure-blood rubbish and shove it up their—"_

_ "I see. Well, one thing's for sure. You'd be miserable in Hufflepuff. Far too excitable. And Ravenclaw's out, too. When _was_ the last time you cracked the cover of a book?"_

_ "Gryffindor."_

_ "What was that?"_

_ "Gryffindor. Put me in Gryffindor."_

_ "Are you trying to order me around, young Mr. Black?"_

_ "Don't call me that!"_

_ "What— Mr. Black? Ah, yes, the newest Mr. Black. It's been a while since the last. Your father, in fact, I think it was. They've all been girls since."_

_ "Get stuffed!"_

_ "It's true! Anyhow… Such a long line of Blacks, and every last one of them in Slytherin."_

_ "Not this one! Now just put me in Gryffindor already!"_

_ "So presumptuous. You like being in charge, don't you Mr. Black? I ought to put you in Slytherin just for that!"_

_ "You bloody well better not! Put me in Gryffindor _now_ or I'm walking right out those bloody doors!"_

_ "Now hold on. Let's think this through."_

_ "I don't want to think this through!"_

_ "Old Slytherin valued ambition, shrewdness, and cunning – you've got all those, near enough."_

_ "No! Shut up!"_

_ "And a penchant for circumventing the rules, oh yes."_

_ "Are you listening? I DON'T WANT TO BE A SLYTHERIN!"_

_ "Your family would be rather disappointed, don't you think?"_

_ "What's the worst they can do, blast me off the family tree? Take the cane to me?"_

_ "Hmm, that's a zero for self-preservation then. And not much for traditional values, are we Mr. Black? But you are certainly reckless. Godric would have loved that."_

_ "Yes! Yes – Gryffindor! That's me! Go on! Say it!"_

_ "And to be fair, Gryffindors aren't particularly well-known for their love of rules."_

_ "That's me! Recklessly breaking rules every chance I get!"_

_ "Yes… Yes, I see… Hmm… Well perhaps you're on to something after all, young Sirius. All that's left to consider is the courage."_

_ "What do you want me to do? Slay a dragon? Wrestle a troll? Go starkers for the rest of the feast?"_

_ "Nothing so… abrupt. No, all you have to do is tell me that _if_ I place you in Gryffindor, you will be able to maintain the conviction you've shown just now, regardless of what anyone says or does. Knowing that your family may disown you, that the Slytherins will surely resent you, that even the Gryffindors you are so keen to join may distrust you for your name— Knowing all this, do you still want to be in Gryffindor?"_

_ "Absolutely."_

_ "In that case, I believe it's about time you became a… GRYFFINDOR!"_

-.-.-

Ever since that moment, he'd known this was coming.

"FILTH!"

The black owl. The red envelope.

"_GRYFFINDOR_? VILE, UNGRATEFUL CHILD!"

He knew his mother's temper far too well to delude himself into thinking he'd escape unscathed, even so far removed from the stuffy, dank hell-hole of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Although he _had_ dared to hope it might wait a few days.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW _DARE_ YOU!"

Yes – his mother's temper was famous. Not so much her eloquence.

"YOU HAVE DISGRACED THE ANCIENT AND MOST NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! FILTH! SCUM!"

He heard the familiar words and recognized them as code for far less civil insults, words she would never permit her precious second son to hear. They might shatter his fragile constitution, poor little thing like him. If only they knew how alike the two brothers really were.

"YOU ARE NOT MY SON!"

Oh, how he wished.

"YOU REPUNGANT, HORRID BOY! CONSORTING WITH BLOOD-TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS!"

His hands tightened convulsively on the edge of the table at the slur that drew a collective gasp from the students gathered for breakfast. He was painfully aware of the eyes burning holes into his head but dared not think about what they would say – what _James_ would say. James Potter, his one and only friend, the first to look past his family's reputation.

And, no doubt, the _last_ to look past his family's reputation, now that they had all heard his mother's Howler.

"SHAME! SHAME AND SCANDAL! YOUR FATHER CAN HARDLY BEAR TO FACE THE OTHER _RESPECTABLE_ WIZARDS BECAUSE OF YOU, SIRIUS ORION BLACK!"

Respectable? _Respectable!_ He could have howled with laughter at the thought – as though any of the sodding blood-purists his father associated with could be considered respectable.

"YOU CAN THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS YOU ARE AT HOGWARTS AND NOT HERE WITH ME! WHEN I SEE YOU, BY MERLIN, I SWEAR I WILL REMIND YOU WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A BLACK!"

His stomach twisted at the threat, veiled though it might have been. He understood perfectly well what awaited him the next time he went home. The cane, certainly, and if he was lucky, it wouldn't be anything worse. Nevertheless, he resolved not to go home for Christmas. Just in case.

"YOU HAD BEST THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU SHAME OUR NAME AGAIN!"

Oh, he would think twice, alright. He would think long and hard about how best to disgrace his family – they would surely punish him for each and every stunt he pulled, so no point in wasting his efforts. Make them all count. Give his mother something to _really_ squawk about.

"YOU—!"

The sudden, gaping silence jolted him out of his dark thoughts, and he stared in confusion at the small pile of ashes smoldering on the table before him.

"Mr. Black."

Sirius jumped at McGonagall's tentative voice, struggling not to flinch as she called him by that name – the name of the family he so hated. Waves of anger and frustration and fear built inside him as he felt James shift on the bench beside him.

McGonagall began to say something else, but Sirius' mad, strangled laugh drowned her out. He reached for his goblet – anything to keep his hands busy, to keep him from finding a Slytherin, _any_ Slytherin, and beating the ever-living hell out of them. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would only make things worse.

He wanted to do it anyway.

"_Noble _House of Black, indeed!" he spat instead, fighting the violent urge with everything he had. The last thing he needed was to get himself expelled, shipped off back to the parents who so despised him. "Love you, too, _mother_."

"Mr. Black," McGonagall said again, and Sirius flinched. Was that all he would ever be here – a Black?

"Sirius."

The boy gave a start at the new voice and turned to find himself looking into clear blue eyes that met his solemnly; eyes that twinkled in impossible understanding, set in an ancient, wrinkled face. _Sirius_, he had said. Not _Black. _Not _Mr. Black_. Not even _Sirius Black_. Just Sirius.

He felt a stirring of hope.

The Headmaster's lips quirked into a sad smile. "Why don't we go have a little chat? Follow me."

Sirius didn't even think about disobeying. He stood stiffly, fixing his eyes on Dumbledore's retreating back so he didn't have to look at James or anyone else.

They walked in silence for ages, Sirius focusing on the act of walking, watching for the trick steps the other students had warned him about. They said the staircases could change direction as you climbed them, or give way and swallow you whole. They said some steps only pretended to be real and solid, when really they were as insubstantial as vapor. Others would bite your toes or grab your ankle or steal your bag.

The last thing he needed now was to get caught by one of those steps.

So he kept his gaze downcast, his mind on the floor and the many staircases Dumbledore led him up. He kept his mind on the floor and resolutely _off_ what had just happened, what was about to happen when Dumbledore finally stopped walking.

"Sugar Quills," Dumbledore said without breaking stride, and Sirius blinked at him, wondering where that had come from.

When he saw the stone gargoyle leap aside, heat flooded Sirius' face and he dropped his gaze again. Of course it was a password. You needed passwords to get practically anywhere in this gigantic maze of a castle.

Both Sirius and Dumbledore remained silent as they stepped past the gargoyle onto the spiral staircase, which promptly jerked into motion, causing Sirius to stumble. Dumbledore grabbed his arm to steady him, but made no comment as they continued upward. When the stairs finally stopped, Dumbledore pushed open a door and gestured Sirius through.

Sirius found himself in a small, cozy office. A window in one wall looked out over the grounds, which were tinged with pink in the sunrise; dozens of intricate silver instruments sat on stands and shelves, but Sirius couldn't even begin to guess their purposes. Portraits lined the walls, their inhabitants dozing against their frames, completely ignorant of the boy who stood gaping at them as the Headmaster took his seat behind the grand mahogany desk.

"Lemon drop?"

Shaking his head, Sirius turned a full circle to examine the rest of the office. A cabinet stood closed in the corner – but Sirius' gaze skipped over it to light on the golden bird on the perch. The bird trilled softly, tilting its head to study the boy. Tongues of flame leaped into the air as the bird stretched its wings, only to chirp contentedly and tuck its head under its wing.

"Fawkes," said Dumbledore from his desk. "My phoenix. Such wonderful creatures…"

Sirius reluctantly completed his survey of the office and faced the Headmaster again.

"Have a seat, Mister—" Dumbledore stopped himself and shook his head. "Have a seat, Sirius." He indicated the chair across from him with a sweeping gesture. Sirius sat.

A heavy silence fell.

At first, Sirius stared at Dumbledore – or rather, at Dumbledore's hands, as he couldn't bring himself to look the Headmaster in the eyes – but after a few minutes, the boy took to studying his own fingernails as he waited for Dumbledore to speak. There was a bit of dirt under his thumbnail that he dug out, and some crumbs had stuck to the front of his robes at breakfast. He brushed them away.

The silence stretched on. The longer it drew out, the harder it was for Sirius to keep the thoughts at bay.

"It was Cissy," he said, rather stupidly.

Dumbledore said nothing.

Sirius licked his lips and continued. "Cissy – Narcissa – she's my cousin… She's the one who told her. She was mad – I saw her last night. She was mad that I…" _That I betrayed the family by refusing to be Sorted into Slytherin_.

It was ridiculous, of course. She couldn't know what had passed between Sirius and the Sorting Hat, how vehemently Sirius had refused to follow in the family's deep and bloody footsteps. All she knew was that somehow, someway, Sirius had wound up in Gryffindor.

She didn't need any other reason to hate him.

"She must've told her," he repeated in a low voice. "I oughtta hex her. I oughtta pound her prissy little face in – wipe that self-righteous smirk off her oh-so-pretty face."

Dumbledore seemed entirely nonplussed at this threat against another student, and they lapsed back into silence.

The words of the Howler echoed in his head, surfacing again and again, no matter how hard Sirius tried to push them away. _Shame – filth and shame and scum. Mudbloods and blood-traitors. Thank your lucky stars – remind you what it means to be a Black._

He shuddered.

A downward twinge of his lips was the only sign Dumbledore gave that he had seen.

"She hates me," Sirius said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

To Sirius' relief, Dumbledore spoke. "Your cousin?"

"Her too. All of them." Sirius paused, dropping his head into his hands. "My mother. She hates me. She's always hated me." He was surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. With a scowl, he raised his head to glare at Dumbledore, as though his maddeningly tranquil presence were responsible for the moment of weakness. "I hate her too," he seethed.

Dumbledore gazed impassively back. "There does seem to be a bit of a rub there."

Scoffing, Sirius stood and began to pace the room. "She's a bloody nightmare! I hate her – I hate – I hate... _No_." He bit down on his anger as he had been told so many times to do. _Don't let them see._ It wasn't proper. A proper wizard didn't air his dirty laundry for all the neighbors to see. A proper wizard held his petty squabbles under wraps. A _proper_ wizard acted, or he endured. He never whined, he never went to another to fix his problems, and he _never_ let a stranger know his private thoughts.

"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore slowly. "No?"

Sirius shook his head and sank back into the chair. "It doesn't matter. My family disagrees with my Sorting, but that's all over with now. May I go to class?"

"Not just yet, I think."

Rolling his eyes, Sirius crossed his arms and sunk low in his seat, waiting for Dumbledore to say whatever it was he had come to say.

But Dumbledore merely looked on.

Some of the silver instruments ticked and hummed from the corner. Fawkes the phoenix crooned forlornly, a low, lilting sound that brought tears to Sirius' eyes. He blinked them furiously away.

"Stupid bird."

With one last trill that sounded like an admonition, Fawkes fell silent.

Sirius stared at the portraits on the walls, who dozed on, looking for all the world like a line of doddering old fools too frail and senile to possibly be of any use to the Headmaster.

"Who're they?" Sirius asked.

Dumbledore hardly spared a glance for the portraits. "Former Heads."

The instruments ticked and hummed, and Sirius was running out of distractions.

He spotted the Sorting Hat, sitting lifeless on a shelf, its ragged, stitched mouth wrinkled into a lopsided grin that made Sirius' lip curl. He remembered its words from the night before. _Knowing that your family may disown you, that the Slytherins will surely resent you, that even the Gryffindors you are so keen to join may distrust you for your name— Knowing all this, do you still want to be in Gryffindor?_ His eyes prickled once more. "Stupid Hat."

"Regretting your Sorting so soon, Sirius?"

"No." Sirius angrily rubbed his eyes. "Who wants to be in rotten old Slytherin, anyway?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Quite a few people, if the numbers are anything to go by." He sighed. "It might have been easier for you if you had been in Slytherin."

Sirius scoffed.

"At the very least," Dumbledore said lightly, as though he were commenting on the bright blue sky visible through the window, "your family would not have reacted so unpleasantly." Sirius ignored him. "And the Slytherins would surely have welcomed you. I understand the Blacks have quite a long history in that House." Sirius merely blinked. "Any you wouldn't have to deal with the suspicion of the Gryffindors."

"No," Sirius spat. "They'd just hate me."

"Ah." Dumbledore's eyes flashed behind his half-moon spectacles. "At last we come to the heart of the matter."

Sirius snapped his mouth shut and glared at his trainers.

"You like being in Gryffindor, Sirius," said Dumbledore, undeterred. "Am I right?"

Sirius mumbled an affirmative.

"And even if you had a chance to redo your Sorting, you wouldn't, correct?"

"Never in a million years."

"And if I'm not mistaken, you've already made friends with a certain Mr. Potter."

At that, Sirius hesitated. He shrugged, unable to find his voice.

Dumbledore frowned. "No? Hmm. It looked as though you two were getting on quite well. Was I mistaken?"

Swallowing thickly, Sirius shook his head. "We… we _were _friends."

"And now?"

He didn't want to think about this, about James and what he must think now. He'd defended Sirius to the other boys last night, saying that it didn't matter that he was a Black, that he wasn't anything like his family. But James didn't know the first thing about the Blacks. He didn't know about their fanaticism or their pride, about their unyielding standards. He didn't know that a Black who disgraced the family name would be beaten and berated until the lesson sank in, or that a blood-traitor like James could expect nothing short of open hostility.

James had been willing to overlook Sirius' family yesterday, when he'd been ignorant of what that really meant. But now that he'd gotten a glimpse, would he feel the same?

"I guess it's up to him," Sirius whispered, trying to regain his composure.

"Indeed it is," said Dumbledore. A knowing smile twinkled in his eyes. "But I think you may yet be surprised by his decision."

"Professor…?"

Dumbledore merely winked and turned his attention to a stack of parchment sitting on his desk. "You may go, Sirius. Your friend ought to be on his way to Herbology just now."

And with a last, confused look at the silver-haired Headmaster, Sirius stood and left the room.


	2. Year One: Good Blacks

**A/N: Takes place in Chapter 15 of _James Potter and the Immortal Icon_. Be warned - this won't make a whole lot of sense without having read up to that point, although I suppose you could still enjoy the story-within-the-story just fine. You'll just be a little confused about the present-day (i.e. 1972) stuff.  
**

**Good Blacks**

_Not her._

Sirius stared down at the bed, breath catching in his throat. The pale face, pinched with pain even in unconsciousness. The damp, dark hair splayed out on the pillow beneath her. The fiery red burns like paint on her unnaturally white skin.

_Anyone but her._

Andromeda moaned softly, and Madam Pomfrey went back to treating her. Still, Sirius couldn't tear his eyes away from her, couldn't calm his screaming nerves that urged him to find the ones responsible and make them pay.

_Cissy. Malfoy._

Narcissa Black, Andromeda's sister, Sirius' cousin, the one who loathed them both for daring to defy Black tradition. Her boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy, who had taken it upon himself, earlier in the year, to punish Sirius for that defiance. Sirius had known Narcissa and Malfoy were behind it all – the attacks, the injuries; he hadn't been able to prove it, but he'd _known_. Just as he'd known the next target would be Andromeda.

'_Mudbloods and blood-traitors.'_

He'd known. So why hadn't he done anything? Why hadn't he trusted his gut? Why hadn't he warned Andromeda, told a professor, gone straight to Narcissa and Malfoy to make them stop? Why had he let it come to this? To Andromeda lying lifeless on a bed in the Hospital Wing?

'_They said she screamed bloody murder!'_

Sirius shuddered. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to Andromeda.

-.-.-

_ "Oh, hello."_

_ Sirius jumped at the voice and whirled around guiltily. A girl of fifteen with long brown hair and kind eyes smiled at him from the couch in the corner. He knew this must be Andromeda, his cousin, middle daughter of Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus. He knew, because Andromeda alone had not been present to welcome Sirius' family._

_ With a guilty glance over his shoulder, Sirius mumbled a greeting._

_ "What's the matter?" Andromeda asked, setting aside the book she had been reading. "Do Mum and Dad want me?"_

_ Sirius shook his head. "I'm hiding."_

_ "Hiding?" She sounded surprised, but after a moment, she let out a laugh. "Well, that makes two of us. You must be… Sirius?"_

_ "Yep."_

_ Andromeda gestured for him to shut the door, then patted the seat next to her._

_ "How come you're hiding?" Sirius asked. At nine years old, Sirius knew how the Black family worked. Even the youngest child was expected to act with poise and dignity, to obey the adults without question, to be a respectable wizard. A good Black didn't slouch or slurp or speak out of turn. A good Black didn't complain about being bored or tired or hungry._

_ A good Black would have stayed down in the drawing room with his brother and parents and listened to his mother catch up with the brother she hadn't seen in _'simply _too_ long!'

_ But Sirius was not a good Black, and neither, it seemed, was Andromeda._

_ With a noncommittal shrug, Andromeda fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "Didn't feel like being civil today."_

_ "I never feel like being civil," Sirius informed her with an impish grin. She laughed._

_ He hadn't met many of his relatives before, except at the big balls at Christmas and Easter, when everyone went to Grandfather Arcturus' estate and gathered in large groups to talk and dance. Sirius and his brother Regulus spent most of these evenings skulking in corners and sneaking outside to climb trees. Even though his parents often made social calls at their relatives houses, Sirius was often left behind – due primarily to his propensity for troublemaking._

_ "Well, Sirius," said Andromeda, shaking his hand formally, though laughter twinkled in her eyes. "I am very glad to have met you, and I apologize for not coming down to greet you." Her mock solemnity vanished with a grin to match Sirius'. "I'm afraid I haven't much patience for the family."_

_ Sirius had to agree. "How come they've all got to be so stuffy?" He fumed for a moment, remembering the verbal thrashing he'd received when his mother discovered that he'd been visiting a muggle boy down the street. "They wouldn't even let us get a telly!"_

_ "A what?" Andromeda asked, laughing._

_ "A telly," repeated Sirius. "It's short for… er… telly-fission, I think. My friend has one, and it has little people running around inside it."_

_ "Your friend?"_

_ "Walter," Sirius said. "He's a muggle."_

_ A shadow passed across Andromeda's face. Her smile vanished. "Sirius… I don't know if anyone's told you this, but… Our family doesn't mix with muggles."_

_ "How come?"_

_ "Because…" She hesitated. "We're magic, and they're not."_

_ Sirius frowned. "So? I can't do much magic yet, either. Plus, Walter can ride a bicycle and hit a baseball and do all _sorts_ of things I can't do! What does it matter whether he knows how to do magic or not?"_

_ "Sometimes, Sirius, I wonder the same thing."_

_ "Well, then, how come Mum says I can't play with him?"_

_ Andromeda regarded him thoughtfully, and a long moment passed before she answered. "That's just the way it is. It'll be easier if you just do as they say." She wrapped her arms around herself and gave him a weak smile. "They're going to win in the end, no matter what you or I say."_

_ But Sirius just shook his head. "I don't care! I'm gonna be friends with whoever I wanna be friends with!"_

_ "You don't know what you're talking about."_

_ "Sure I do!" Sirius argued. "If no one ever tells them they're wrong, how's anything gonna change?"_

_ Andromeda seemed taken aback by this bold statement, and for a long while, she studied Sirius, lips parted in surprise. Then, slowly, she smiled. "You know, Sirius? Maybe you're right."_

-.-.-

_ The letter came six months later._

_Dearest Sirius—_

_Happy Christmas to my favorite cousin!_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that the family isn't driving you too  
crazy. You still have, what, a year and a half before you come to Hogwarts?  
I'm sure you can't wait – I certainly couldn't. There are some decent people,  
even in Slytherin. Sometimes I think our family is the worst of the lot._

_Anyway, I wanted to thank you. You probably don't even remember the  
conversation we had this summer when you came over for the first time, but I  
do. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. You see, there's this boy I  
know. His name is Ted, and he's a muggle-born. He's really sweet and funny,  
but I was always so scared of what my parents would say that I didn't let  
myself get to know him._

_Well, after talking to you, I decided to take your advice and make a change.  
Yesterday, Ted asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes._

_I'm sorry, Sirius, I'm sure you don't care about all my girly lovey-dovey  
stuff, but I'm so excited I just had to tell someone. And you're about the only  
one I know will understand. I'll tell my parents when Ted and I are both  
ready, but for now, would you do me a favor and keep this just between us?_

_Thanks, Sirius. Truly._

_All my love,  
Andromeda_

-.-.-

They'd managed to keep their relationship a secret for almost a year. When the truth came out, her parents were beyond angry, but Andromeda had stood firm. She'd written a letter to Sirius the very same night, telling him what had happened and that she still remembered what Sirius had said. They were wrong, she said, and she was going to make sure they knew it.

Now Ted and Andromeda were engaged, and she had been blasted off the family tree.

Sirius knew it didn't bode well for him, the other rebel in the family. One day, he would probably face the same fate as Andromeda. He didn't care. He still meant what he had said two and a half years ago – the Blacks were wrong, and though that might never change, Sirius would never become one of them.

But standing in the Hospital Wing, staring down at Andromeda's still, pallid form, Sirius felt the first stirrings of doubt – not for himself. Never for himself. He could take whatever the family dished out.

For Andromeda.

She was here because she was a blood-traitor. She had defied her parents and forged her own path in life, a path she chose to walk with a lowly muggle-born.

A path she chose, in part, because of Sirius.

Guilt and anger warred for dominance in Sirius' pounding head. He was only vaguely aware of James beside him, of Madam Pomfrey fussing over Andromeda, of Ted lying in the next bed over, smiling feebly up at the visitors. Andromeda filled his mind.

_My fault_.

The thought floated at the edge of his awareness, cold and sharp, raising a lump in his throat. It was his fault this had happened to her, the only other decent Black he'd ever known. If he'd just left her alone, kept his big mouth shut, she might have been happy. She might have got along better with her sisters and her parents. She certainly wouldn't have been attacked like this.

But Sirius shoved these thoughts aside. It _wasn't_ his fault. He hadn't attacked her. Cissy had. Andromeda's own sister had landed her in the Hospital Wing, just as Andromeda's own mother had tossed her out on the street after burning her name off the family tree.

His guilt fled in the face of his white-hot anger, and his hands balled into fists at his side, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He wouldn't let Narcissa get away with this. She couldn't be allowed to hurt her sister just because Andromeda had enough integrity to cast off the twisted ideology of the Black family. Narcissa had to know that Andromeda wasn't easy pickings, just because she had been disowned. Sirius was still there; he would stand by Andromeda and do his best to protect her. He wouldn't let her get hurt again.

Narcissa had to pay.


	3. Interlude

**A/N: Set between _James Potter and the Immortal Icon_ (Year One) and_ James Potter and the Shrieking Shack _(Year Two). Although you can read the interludes in any order, this one is chronologically first, followed by _Wormtail's Story _and then _Moon__y's Story_.**

* * *

**Interlude: Summer 1972**

They were perfectly civil on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. They greeted him with bland smiles and questions of _How was your year?_ and _Did you make lots of friends?_ and _What would you like for supper, dear?_ Anyone who didn't know better would think them a perfectly normal, perfectly happy family.

Anyone who _mattered_ knew better.

But appearances had to be maintained. Orion and Walburga Black understood that better than most, as did their younger son, Regulus, who flashed his brother one warm smile before adopting a practiced, neutral expression and positioned himself half a step behind his mother. The Blacks, after all, were one of the oldest and purest wizarding families in Britain, and it wouldn't do for their reputation to be tarnished further than it already had been. That meant no arguments, no insults, no children acting like children… Until they returned home to Grimmauld Place.

Sirius, too, knew that family disputes were best kept within the family. The whole world already knew that he opposed his parents' blood-purist attitude; he could hear whispers skittering here and there in the gathered crowd as he followed his parents toward the barrier, so it wasn't as though he had to make a scene.

"Is that…?"

"_No!_ You think so?"

"I can't believe it!"

"…only rumors?"

"A _Black_? In _Gryffindor_?"

Sirius didn't know whether to grin in triumph or cower in fear as a vein pulsed in his father's neck, so he settled on a bored expression as he let his eyes and mind wander. He didn't for one moment regret his Sorting. After all, if he hadn't been in Gryffindor, he wouldn't have met the three best friends in the world.

A few feet away, round-faced and twitchy as always but chattering excitedly to his smiling parents, was Peter Pettigrew. Sirius wondered idly whether Peter had already asked to have his friends over, and whether his parents had agreed. Since the Pettigrews were purebloods, there was a chance, however slim, that Sirius would be allowed to go if he didn't antagonize his parents too much between now and then. He would have to remember to thank James for keeping him from pranking Cissy and Malfoy on the train, for that certainly wouldn't have improved his odds.

Sirius shot a furtive glance at his parents, who were thoroughly ignoring him in favor of their high-bred friends – the Malfoys, the Lestranges and the Rosiers, among others. Satisfied that his parents were sufficiently distracted, Sirius scanned the crowd for a glimpse of unruly black hair.

There, in the middle of a group of wizards rivaling the Blacks' cohort (except that this other group was actually _smiling_), stood the Potters. As Sirius watched, James nodded politely at something a witch said, then rolled his eyes as soon as she turned away. Mrs. Potter saw this and scowled at her son, who put on an innocent grin. Sirius couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as Mrs. Potter's disapproval melted away into a fond shake of her head.

"Rather unfortunate, isn't it, Walburga, dear?"

"Yes… unfortunate." Mrs. Black's voice was carefully controlled, but Sirius didn't miss the venom in the tone and he turned to find her gazing at him with a dark fire in her eyes. "But that's in the past now. We'll just have to make the best of the situation."

The other witch – Rolanda Wilkes, Sirius thought, though he'd never been able to tell Mrs. Wilkes and Mrs. Avery apart – went on talking, but Sirius ignored her, as did Mrs. Black, who was staring at her elder son as though daring him to argue. Her expression promised severe punishment if he insisted on continuing to defy the family.

Sirius adopted what he hoped was a convincingly innocent expression. (Once, he would have gone for apologetic, but he thought that might be overdoing it a bit at the moment, after all the trouble he'd gone to to prove that he _wasn't_ sorry for his Sorting.) Mrs. Black eyed him critically for a moment before turning pointedly back to Mrs. Wilkes.

Settling into his public persona, which Sirius had privately termed his Prank Face, Sirius resigned himself to a long wait. His spine was straight, his shoulders back, his face a carefully neutral, respectful mask so any adult glancing his way would be assured he wasn't thinking of causing trouble. This, Sirius had discovered through long years of boring social functions, was the best way to avoid notice— and thus, to avoid punishment, deserved or otherwise.

The crowd around the Potters was moving toward the barrier now, breaking apart with promises to get in touch over the summer; Peter's family was nowhere to be seen. Sirius allowed himself the smallest of sighs.

Regulus' brows pulled together ever-so-slightly as he peered at his brother. Sirius scowled and turned away.

And then, after an agonizingly drawn-out series of farewells, Mr. and Mrs. Black led their sons through the barrier, out of King's Cross, and to the nearest apparition point. Never mind that Grimmauld Place was only a short walk away, Sirius thought as his mother held out her hand to Regulus, while Mr. Black grabbed Sirius rather more roughly. Never mind that by apparating they were only saving about a quarter hour. Merlin forbid the _noble_ Blacks actually stoop so low as to _walk_, like ordinary _muggles_.

Mr. Black's fingers dug into Sirius' arm as the man turned on the spot. There came the familiar, uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed and twisted and spat back out, and then they were standing just outside Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. A few of their muggle neighbors were out enjoying the warm weather, but none of them showed any sign of having seen the family of four appearing from thin air. They wouldn't have; Sirius' parents had paid handsomely to have Ministry wizards create a licensed apparition point for the Blacks' personal use just outside the front door.

All four Blacks were stiff and silent as they entered the house, but as soon as the door shut behind them, Sirius knew all bets were off.

"Regulus, darling," said Mrs. Black tightly, her eyes fixed on Sirius. "Go wash up. We'll have supper in a bit."

Regulus shot Sirius a sympathetic look but, perfect son he was, he put up no protest as the trudged toward the stairs. His footsteps on the stairs, however, carried too easily to the entryway, and his bedroom door closed just a hair too quickly, which meant, no doubt, that Regulus was hiding somewhere out of sight to eavesdrop on the conversation his mother so obviously didn't want him to hear. Sirius smirked.

"Wipe that insufferable smile off your face!" Mrs. Black snapped, towering over Sirius. Her face had lost its cordial, refined expression and was instead twisted into a furious scowl. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Sirius feigned confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Mother?"

"DON'T GET CHEEKY WITH ME, YOUNG MAN!" Mrs. Black screamed, loud enough that Regulus probably would have been able to hear it from the attic, let alone the second landing. "Eleven years of raising you to be an upstanding wizard, and look what happens the _instant_ I let you out of my sight! You go and get yourself Sorted into Gryffindor— _Gryffindor!_"

"In my defense," Sirius pointed out bitterly, "that was kind of the Sorting Hat's fault." _Never mind that I threatened to feed it to a dragon if it put me in Slytherin…_

"YOU BE QUIET WHEN YOUR MOTHER IS SPEAKING TO YOU!" Mr. Black roared.

Sirius snorted, but shut his mouth. He slouched against the immaculate wall, fixing his eyes on the silver serpent chandelier, which the house elf, Kreacher, must have polished recently, for it cast glittering reflections on the emerald walls.

Mrs. Black went on, drawing herself up to her full height as though to make her next words seem more important. "As if your disgraceful Sorting weren't enough," she spat, "the very next thing you do is run off and make friends with that blood-traitor brat! _Potter_! Coarse, ungrateful blights on all of wizardkind, and I'm sure the boy is every bit as miserable as his father— DON'T YOU MAKE THAT FACE AT ME!"

Sirius' fists were clenched at his side, his lips parted in a snarl, his eyes blazing. He wanted to scream, to shout at his parents as they always shouted at him. _James is nothing like that!_ _He's the best friend I've ever had!_

But even as he opened his mouth to say as much, Sirius thought of Peter's promise to have them all over that summer. Sirius needed to be in his parents' good graces if he would ever be allowed to go. For a fleeting minute, he thought, _To hell with that! I'm not gonna let them bad-mouth my friend to my face!_

_Then go ahead and scream yourself blue,_ said a voice in his head, a wry, playful voice that sounded remarkably like James. _Tell them what's-what! And then sit back and enjoy your victory as they lock you in your room for the rest of the summer._

_ I can't just _agree_ with them,_ Sirius argued.

He could almost hear James laughing, could practically see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. _You could pull one over on them,_ the voice suggested impishly. _You could make it the biggest prank ever. Six years playing the reformed Gryffindor, pretending to be doing what they want you to… Just think of their faces when you move out and you tell them we've been friends all along! It'll be great!_

Sirius hesitated.

_Besides… _the voice added slyly._ It would be good practice for lying to McGonagall._

At that, Sirius grinned, although he quickly turned it into a contrite expression. "You're right, Mother."

Mrs. Black's voice faltered, and she scrutinized her son for any signs of sarcasm. Sirius tried to look earnest. "What?"

"You're right," Sirius repeated. "I apologize for my conduct and for bringing disgrace on the family."

His parents stared at him in shock and suspicion, and Sirius reminded himself not to overdo it.

"But I _am_ in Gryffindor," he went on, letting a note of defiance seep into his voice. "I can't go around making friends with Slytherins. It just isn't done!"

"You can't go around making friends with blood-traitors is what you can't do!" Mrs. Black retorted. "Think what that says about us! I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT!"

Sirius crossed his arms. "Well, then, what am I supposed to do, make friends with the _other_ Gryffindors?"

"IT'S GOT TO BE BETTER THAN CONSORTING WITH A POTTER!"

"You can't tell me there aren't any other purebloods in your year," Mr. Black growled, looming threateningly over his son.

Cringing in a way that was only partially feigned, Sirius stared at the ground. "Well..."

"Yes?" Mr. Black pressed. "Speak up, boy!"

"There's Frank Longbottom and Peter Pettigrew."

Mr. Black's face lit up. "Longbottom!"

But Mrs. Black was already shaking her head. "The Longbottoms have been getting awfully friendly with the Potters lately. If he larks about with one, it's only a matter of time until the other comes along."

"Pettigrew, then. They're a bit... middling..."

"A far sight better than a Potter," Mrs. Black pointed out.

Mr. Black nodded, and turned back to Sirius. "Very well. From now on, Peter Pettigrew can be your friend."

"What?" Sirius cried, feigning indignation, even as his heart leapt. "But—"

"That's final! Now go wash up. Supper is in ten minutes."

Scowling, Sirius turned and stomped up the stairs. He heard Regulus dart into his room, but paid his brother no mind. Once he reached his room, he slammed the door behind him and flopped down on his bed, grinning triumphantly. _They bought it! I can't believe they bought it!_

_Yeah,_ said the James-like voice in his head. _Now__ you've just got to keep it up the rest of the summer_.

And he would. He would stay out of trouble, only defy his parents in small ways - ways that wouldn't upset his chances of staying over at Peter's house. It would be tricky, no doubt, but Sirius loved a challenge. And if he managed to pull it off, it would be the best prank ever.


	4. Year Two: Odd Man Out

**A/N: Set between chapters 5 and 6 of _James Potter and the Shrieking Shack,_ on the second day of classes.**

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**Odd Man Out**

Every Monday evening, Sirius snuck out after hours with James to explore the castle on the principle that Mondays were evil days and had to be remedied with some form of rule-breaking. Monday, the fourth of September, 1972 - the first day of classes - was no exception. It came as no surprise, therefore, that the following morning, Sirius overslept. What _was_ surprising was the utter lack of irritable shouting, tugging, and poking that James usually employed to rouse his friend.

When he finally awoke at a quarter past eight, less than an hour before their first class was to start, Sirius sat bolt upright in the empty dormitory, glanced around for his friends, and swore.

"Ruddy gits," he muttered, throwing on his uniform haphazardly and shoving the nearest books into his schoolbag without pausing to check which subjects he had that day. He had no doubt that it had been James' idea to let him oversleep – he'd been complaining for the last year about how hard it was to wake Sirius up – and Peter would never say no to James. But Sirius had hoped that Remus would have taken pity on him.

Five minutes later, after a quick glance in the mirror to make sure his hair lay flat, Sirius dashed out the door, down to the common room, past a handful of startled students who were just returning from breakfast, and out through the portrait hole. _I can't believe it!_ he thought as he navigated the labyrinthine corridors, but he couldn't entirely keep the smile off his face. Now that he was back at Hogwarts, his only _real_ home, he found it hard to stay in a bad mood for long. At least when he got down to the Great Hall, his friends would laugh at their prank instead of yelling at him for being a "lazy wastrel of a son."

Sirius ran headlong down shifting staircases and barreled out of secret passages without regard for any hapless students he might knock into. He didn't stop until he reached the Entrance Hall, where he collided with a slight, dark-haired figure and lost his balance. Both boys ended up on the hard stone ground, moaning and rubbing their rumps.

"Sorry," said the other boy. "I didn't see… Sirius?"

Sirius, who had already scrambled to his feet with the intent of sprinting into the Great Hall before the end of breakfast, paused and turned back to the boy on the floor. "Reg! What are you doing here?"

Arching his eyebrow, Regulus pushed himself to his feet. "I _was_ on my way to class." He paused, eyeing Sirius' rumpled robes. His hand drifted up to his emerald green tie, as though checking to ensure he didn't look as disheveled as his brother. "You aren't just getting up, are you?"

Sirius only glared in return.

"Blimey, Sirius!" Regulus laughed, shaking his head. "I know you like your sleep, but food usually wins out!"

"Oh, get stuffed," Sirius grumbled, but despite himself, he offered his brother a small smile. "So… how are you liking Hogwarts so far?"

Regulus' face split into a broad grin. "It's amazing, Sirius! It's everything I ever dreamed it would be!" He looked so giddy that for one moment, Sirius managed to forget about the rest of his family, about blood-purity and the Blacks' indomitable pride. He didn't care, just then, that everyone who shared his surname regarded him as a blight on their Ancient and Noble House.

All that mattered was that Sirius' little brother had come to Hogwarts at last.

"You don't know the half of it, Reg." Grinning, Sirius leaned in close to whisper, "There's all sorts of secret passages here, if you know where to look. I'll show you some later, if you want."

"Really?" Regulus gripped Sirius' arm excitedly and beamed up at him, as he had so often when they were younger. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. You're my baby brother," he teased, pinching Regulus' cheek. "Ickle Reggie all grown up and off to Hogwarts!"

Scowling through a laugh, Regulus batted away Sirius' patronizing gesture. "I'm not a baby, Sirius."

"You're still my kid brother."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "I'll _always_ be your kid brother."

"Well isn't this _adorable._"

With a jolt, Sirius stepped backward, away from Regulus, and turned toward the voice. The horribly familiar, saccharine voice.

"Malfoy," he spat, lip curling as the pale, blond seventh year emerged from the Great Hall. Sirius' cousin Narcissa hung on his arm, all golden hair and ruby lips and steely gray eyes.

"My dear cousin," said Narcissa sweetly, releasing her boyfriend's arm so she could wrap a slender arm around Regulus' shoulder. She spared a disparaging glance for Sirius. "Why are you wasting your time with this Gryffindor _filth_, Regulus? Surely you can find far better friends in your own House."

At once, Regulus' cheery smile faded; his gaze dropped to the floor, and he took a half step back, yielding as always to his elders. It was something Mrs. Black had drilled into both her sons from an early age: as a Black, they occupied a higher tier than the common masses. A Black bowed to no one, _ever_, except their betters, and precious few deserved that designation; only older Blacks and, Sirius privately suspected, madmen like one Lord Voldemort who had recently begun stirring up trouble in the name of blood purity.

"_Reg_," Sirius snarled, heart sinking as Regulus fell into _their_ ways, rather than stand by his brother.

Regulus steadfastly avoided his brother's eyes. "Hello, Cissy," he murmured. "Hello, Lucius."

Lucius Malfoy flashed a twisted smile in Regulus' direction, his eyes locked on Sirius. "Regulus," he acknowledged with a stiff nod. "I see you, at least, have some manners. Your mother must be so relieved. What with the disappointment she suffered last year…"

For a brief moment, Regulus looked up angrily, his mouth open to retort, but he seemed to think better of it and deflated. A part of Sirius twisted painfully as Regulus neglected to defend his brother, but another, larger part refused to acknowledge his disappointment. He was older than Regulus, after all, and a Gryffindor. A rebel Black. He didn't need anyone to fight his battles.

"What disappointment, Malfoy?" Sirius asked bitterly. "Finding out her precious niece settled for a git like you?"

Malfoy's lips twitched into a frown, but he didn't let his irritation show for long. Smiling placidly once more, Malfoy turned away from Sirius to face Narcissa and Regulus. "You have class soon, don't you Regulus?"

Regulus nodded mutely, still staring fixedly at his toes.

"Well then why don't I show you the way? Unless…" Malfoy trailed off with a backward glance at Sirius. Narcissa arched her eyebrow delicately, and Regulus looked up, startled.

Sirius knew at once what Malfoy was doing; they all did. He was offering Regulus a choice. A choice between Sirius – his brother, the blood-traitor who had been Sorted into Gryffindor and would likely get himself disowned before he came of age – and the rest of the Black family – those like Orion and Narcissa, who wielded their influence like a weapon to destroy those who opposed them, and those like Walburga and Bellatrix, whose weapons were far more painful.

And the worst part, Sirius thought, trembling with rage as Regulus glanced from one hard face to another, was that he knew who Regulus would choose. It wouldn't matter that once upon a time, the two brothers had been the best of friends, inseparable; it wouldn't matter that Sirius still loved his brother and would do almost anything to hold onto that. Because Regulus would not – _could not_ – go against the family as Sirius had. He had never been as reckless as Sirius, nor as rebellious, and Sirius knew that, after seeing how their parents had reacted to Sirius' Sorting, Regulus was less likely than ever to follow in his brother's footsteps.

Yes, Sirius had known for some time that he was losing his brother. Regulus becoming a Slytherin had sealed it, but if he was honest with himself, Sirius himself had started the split one year earlier when he defied tradition and became a Gryffindor.

But he had hoped, selfishly, foolishly, that he wouldn't have to say goodbye so soon. He had hoped that they could continue on good terms at least until Sirius left Hogwarts, until they entered the real world where politics and family duties would drive them into different worlds. He had failed to take into account Malfoy – the loathsome, scheming snake who had wormed his way into Sirius' family and seemed more determined than even Sirius' own mother to punish him for his defiance.

Because Sirius knew that this would be Regulus' one and only chance. His only choice. When he turned his back on Sirius now – and Sirius knew he would, however much he might hope for the opposite – there would be no turning back. Malfoy was taking Regulus away from him, and Sirius hated him for it. He hated him as he had never hated anyone before. And so, before he knew what he was doing, before Regulus even had a chance to answer Malfoy's unasked question, Sirius flung himself at Malfoy, fists flying, a wordless cry on his lips.

Malfoy moved gracefully, almost lazily, sidestepping Sirius' assault and bringing up his own fist. It took only one blow to send Sirius sprawling, his head cracking painfully against the floor. He tasted blood, and when he gingerly touched his lips, his fingers came away red.

Regulus had gone white, and he stared at Sirius, mouth agape, even as Narcissa gently turned him away. Rubbing his hand, Malfoy sneered down at Sirius, then turned and put his arm around Regulus' shoulders and led him away.

Sirius remained on the floor, dabbing at his lip with the sleeve of his robes, blinking back tears, until a group of tittering Hufflepuffs passed by, startling him from his reverie. Then, though he wasn't hungry anymore, he trudged into the Great Hall, shoving thoughts of his brother out of his mind and trying instead to focus on the friends who, he knew, would never leave him because others didn't approve of his choices.

Who needed family, anyway?


	5. Year Two: Family Names

**A/N: Set during chapter 11 of _James Potter and the Shrieking Shack_.**

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**Family Names  
**

"Happy birthday."

It was the fourteenth of November, a full two weeks after Sirius' thirteenth birthday, and as such, the sudden well-wishes caught him off-guard— all the more so because they came from Sirius' younger brother Regulus, who had appeared suddenly at the end of the remote sixth floor corridor down which Sirius had been wandering. It was almost as though Regulus had been following Sirius in roaming the castle before lunch, just waiting for the Gryffindor to reach a secluded place.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sirius demanded warily, eyeing the deserted corridor, which was lined with a broom cupboard, a dusty classroom, and a row of windows overlooking the greenhouses. Sirius saw no sign of other students, staff, or ghosts, but he wouldn't be so easily appeased. Slytherins prided themselves on their sneakiness, after all. It would be just like them to sneak up on him while his brother distracted him.

Regulus raised one thin eyebrow. "It means you had a birthday, and that I hope you enjoyed it."

"My birthday was two weeks ago," Sirius reminded him, eyes still roving the corridor. Maybe he ought to go check the classroom and cupboard, just in case.

"I know." Regulus followed Sirius' gaze, frowned when he found nothing worth his notice, and turned back around. "So?"

Sirius sighed and fixed his brother with an exasperated glare. "So why didn't you wish me happy birthday two weeks ago?" He gestured around the empty corridor. If it was as Slytherin-free as it seemed, Sirius and Regulus would remain undisturbed for some time. "Didn't want your new friends to know you were talking to me?"

Though Regulus didn't respond, a dull flush colored his cheeks, and Sirius knew he had hit the mark.

With a snort, Sirius turned to walk away, only for Regulus to reach out and seize him by the elbow.

"What's your problem?" Sirius barked, not turning, though he had halted at his brother's touch.

Regulus quickly released his hold. "I… I just wanted to talk to you," he said in a small voice. "It feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

"And whose fault is that?"

Regulus cringed.

Biting down on his tongue, Sirius reluctantly turned back toward his brother. He knew he was being unfair in pinning all the blame on Regulus. It wasn't Reg's fault they had grown apart in the last two months; Slytherins and Gryffindors simply didn't mix.

But Sirius couldn't help thinking that Regulus had changed since his Sorting. Before he joined the snakes in the dungeons, Regulus had been a bit rebellious (for a Black). Not to the same extent as Sirius, nor as openly, but he had stuck by Sirius even when their parents had turned on their Gryffindor son.

The old Regulus, who would sneak past Kreacher to keep Sirius company during his time-outs; who kept quiet about the muggle toys Sirius smuggled into Grimmauld Place, though he himself didn't share the fascination; who hadn't balked at Sirius' Sorting… Sirius feared that the Regulus he remembered was fast becoming a fixture of the past. Regulus the Slytherin already feared the judgment of his Housemates, and especially of Lucius Malfoy, more than he had ever feared his parents. He no longer spent time with Sirius where others could see. He had already accepted the bitter rivalry between their Houses. How much longer would it take for Regulus to become just like all the other snakes?

"Sirius…" Regulus began after a period of strained silence.

Sirius looked up sharply. _"What,_ Reg?" he snapped. "What do you want?"

A hurt look crossed Regulus' face, and he quickly turned to look out the window. The chill November breeze tossed his hair about his face, and the midmorning light glistened in his wet eyes. "I just want things to be like they used to be between us."

Sirius wanted to laugh at the sappy comment. Instead, he smiled grimly and joined Regulus in peering out over the grounds of Hogwarts. He could see movement in the greenhouses far below, but the cold morning kept everyone else inside, where fires and charms kept them warm. "It's not that simple anymore," Sirius murmured, his voice losing its hard edge.

Regulus furrowed his brow. "But you're my brother," he said, as though that fact solved everything.

"Not for long," Sirius muttered. "Not if Mum's got any say in the matter."

Alarmed, Regulus whirled around, his gray eyes gone wide. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not like the rest of the family, Reg, you _know _that. I'll be of age in four years, and there's no way in hell Mum will have a Gryffindor heir. Even if I did everything they want from here on in, I'll be disowned when I turn seventeen." He paused, swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat— What did he care if he wasn't a Black anymore? —and smirked at his brother. "Not that I have any intention of doing what they want me to. Honestly, I think I'll be off on my own before I'm sixteen!"

"So?" For the first time since September, a glimpse of the old Regulus broke through. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin defiantly. "You'll always be my brother. Mum can blast you off the family tree if she wants; that's got nothing to do with me."

With a grin, Sirius shook his head. "What a delightfully Hufflepuff sentiment. Too bad it won't count for much in Slytherin."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Sirius with a grimace, "that in your charming little House, your parents are everything. That's how they choose prefects, isn't it? Whoever's got the most powerful parents? And Merlin knows I'd hate to be a half-blood in Slytherin, let alone a measly muggle-born."

"Bollocks!" Regulus cried. "I'm not Mum and Dad. I can live my life however I want!"

With a snort, Sirius hopped up onto the windowsill and sat staring out toward the Forbidden Forest, which seemed untouched by the bright sunlight. "Brill," he muttered. "But do you mean it?"

"Of course I—"

Sirius shot him a sidelong look, and Regulus fell silent. "You don't know what you're talking about," Sirius said, turning toward the forest once more. "Not really. If you want me for a brother, then you're getting everything that comes with me. Mum and Dad might not disown you— you being the last Black heir and all— but they're sure as hell gonna make your life miserable. All your new Slytherin friends will turn their backs on you, too, for taking up with a blood-traitor like me."

"So we keep it a secret!"

_He sure is stubborn,_ Sirius thought, fighting not to grin. _He's an idiot who hasn't got a clue what he's talking about, but he's sticking to it._ "In the House of sneaks and snitches?" he asked. "Good luck."

A mischievous gleam entered Regulus' eye. "What, don't think you're up to the challenge?"

Sirius straightened up, indignant. "I'm more worried about you!"

"Well _I'm_ not going to be the one to spill the scotchpods."

"Neither am I!" Sirius shot back.

Regulus grinned in triumph. "Great! So it's settled. Looks like you're stuck with me for a while longer, big brother."

After a moment of stunned silence, Sirius burst out laughing. Regulus' declaration sounded like something Sirius himself would have come up with, had the situation not involved his family. And yet in any other situation, Regulus would have given up the fight almost straight away. Even in their similarities, the brothers were miles apart, for nothing mattered more to Regulus than family, and Sirius… Well, maybe it wasn't fair to say that Sirius didn't care. As hard as he fought against his parents and Bella and Cissy, he would fight even harder for Regulus and Andromeda, if it came to that, even when the outcome looked bleak.

And he feared his fight would prove futile, in the end, at least where Regulus was concerned. Regulus clung to his family, but when Sirius and his parents stood on opposite sides, what then? Sirius knew Regulus would never be able to choose his brother over his parents, or his parents over his brother. But in this case, there would be no middle ground. If Regulus didn't cut all ties to his parents and their ideals – which Sirius knew he never would – then sooner or later he would find himself on their side. There was no such thing as a half-hearted blood-traitor.

But far be it from Sirius to give up first. As long as Regulus was willing to try, Sirius would do the same.

-.-.-

The two brothers didn't have long to talk that day before their growling stomachs called them down to lunch. Sirius and Regulus, already committed to their shared secrecy, murmured their goodbyes in the lonely corridor and hurried off in opposite directions.

But Sirius' thoughts remained with his brother for the entire afternoon, even as Lynx set them to practicing _Stupefy_ on each other. Each time Sirius came out of the drowsy haze, his first thought was of his brother, something that hadn't happened since his first weeks at Hogwarts.

Regulus was pretty decent, Sirius supposed. For a Slytherin. It astounded him that Regulus still wanted to be his brother, in spite of the thinly-veiled ultimatum Malfoy had presented back in September. When faced with a choice between Sirius and all of Slytherin, though Sirius could do little to prevent the Slytherins ruining Regulus' Hogwarts career, Regulus had chosen to ride the fence. It could prove dangerous, should anyone discover Regulus' clandestine meeting with his brother, but Regulus would have it no other way— all because of family.

It made Sirius wonder if there was something wrong with him that made him care so little for his family. Regulus would defy his parents and his House for Sirius, simply because they were brothers. Remus left school without a second thought to visit his sick mother, no matter how often she fell ill. And James' parents had bought him a new broom for no reason other than because they knew he wanted one.

Sirius' parents hadn't even sent him a birthday present this year. Maybe that was why Sirius didn't care about his family: because they weren't worth caring about.

And yet he _did_ care.

Sirius had known for over a year that he would be disowned, sooner or later, but that morning with Regulus had been the first time Sirius had admitted it out loud. To his dismay, he'd felt a twinge of pain and regret, and now, hours later, his reaction still left him feeling uncertain. Why did the thought of leaving Grimmauld Place behind forever make him so nervous? He didn't care about them, about their acceptance. He didn't want to be a Black at all!

After all, everyone who heard his name assumed it told them all they needed to know about Sirius Orion Black. Even now, a large number of Gryffindors still regarded Sirius with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. It was all well and good for James to be a Potter and therefore destined for success and popularity; for Peter to be a Pettigrew, a humble but well-liked family; for Remus to be a Lupin, of whom no one seemed to have a clear opinion.

But Sirius was defined by his name more than the others. The shadow of the Blacks hung over his head, always the backdrop against which his life was to be judged. Being disowned would only mean that he would finally have a chance to be his own person, to be judged for who _he_ was and not for those who shared his name. He should be ecstatic about getting blasted off the family tree! He didn't need them!

But he didn't want to be alone. His was a lousy family, but it was all he'd been given, and a part of him still wanted a place to belong, if only nominally.

If only he'd been allowed to choose his own family! James and Remus and Peter made for a far better family than his own. James was his twin in looks and temperament, the one who would venture with Sirius to the depths of the Black Lake or the darkest corners of the Forbidden Forest. Remus was the mature, responsible (sometimes annoyingly so) big brother who nevertheless was always game for a bit of fun. And Peter was the kid brother who needed protecting and eagerly joined in the schemes that made Remus turn up his nose.

A strange family, perhaps, but Sirius could think of no one he'd rather have as brothers. Regulus might grow tired of his secret brother, but Sirius knew his friends, his brothers, would always be there for him. Their quirky family needed just one last thing to be official, and so, on the afternoon of Tuesday, the fourteenth of November, Sirius entered the common room with his friends after lessons and declared—

"We need a name."


	6. Year Two: On Fathers

**A/N: This is set During chapter 12 of _James Potter and the Shrieking Shack_, although the majority is a flashback to 1967-68.**

* * *

**On Fathers**

_ Sirius was seven years old when he first saw Walter Sawicki through his bedroom window, riding a device whose like Sirius had never seen. The towheaded boy was around Sirius' own age, with a gap in his teeth and a cleft chin, and he hummed to himself as he rode up and down the street. Sirius looked on in fascination, not entirely sure what to make of the odd, twisted metal frame or the dizzying whirl of the wheels or the pumping motion of the boy's legs, which to Sirius looked like an utter waste of energy when a broom could move faster with less unnecessary flailing._

_ But Sirius was too young to have his own broom, and his parents didn't like to fly, if they could help it. (Not that there was anywhere _to _fly, here in the middle of London.) He watched curiously as the other boy rode lazy circles in the road and decided that, as long as he couldn't fly, riding the wheeled gizmo might be some consolation._

_ Ever since Sirius could remember, his parents had impressed upon him the importance of staying inside the house, where privacy charms and ancient wards protected them from prying eyes and unwanted visitors. "Time was, this neighborhood was all magical," his father had often said, a wistful look in his gray eyes as he strode down corridors thick with portraits of Black Ancestors who had lived in Number Twelve years and years ago. "Then the _muggles_ overran the place. Can't hardly step outside now, without their taint getting all over you."_

_ Sirius wasn't sure what, exactly, made someone a muggle, but he knew they were bad people who would take away his magic if he spent too much time with them. At least, that was what Walburga said, and all her friends agreed with her. They all told Sirius that he wasn't to speak to muggles, or play with them, or go anywhere near them, if he could help it. And since everyone else who lived on Grimmauld Place was a muggle, that meant it was dangerous to even go outside._

_ But Sirius was a curious boy – he always had been – and at any rate, there was nothing for him to do inside the house that summer's evening. Orion was working late, Regulus had taken ill, and Walburga was in Diagon Alley buying a potion to help Regulus feel better. Kreacher was to remain at Regulus' side until she returned, and Sirius was to stay away so as not to fall ill himself._

_ For a short while, Sirius watched from the window, but his boredom soon got the better of him, and he crept downstairs as quietly as he could, slipped on his trainers, and darted out through the front doors.  
_

_ Although the sun rode low in the sky, the heat of the day lingered in the air, and Sirius was grateful that Walburga had been too busy tending to Regulus to notice he had foregone his stifling wizard robes in favor of shorts. The day-clothes he owned were not quite the same as the clothes Sirius had seen muggles wearing, but Sirius still preferred them to his robes._

_ Sirius lingered in the long shadow of Number Twelve, watching the graceful gliding of the boy across the street; he had stopped pumping his legs momentarily, and the smooth motion reminded Sirius more keenly than ever of a broomstick._

_ "What're you doing?" Sirius called, stepping outside the protective wards so the other boy could see him. He did not yet approach the boy, however, for he was almost certainly a muggle, and Sirius didn't want to lose the magic he'd only had for a year._

_ The boy stopped his metal thing and put a foot down as he turned to stare at Sirius. "I'm riding my bike."_

_ Sirius nodded his head slowly. So the metal thing was called a bike._

_ "D'you wanna try?" the boy asked. "If you pretend real hard, it's almost like flying!"_

_ Sirius perked up at that. If this boy knew about flying, he wondered, did that mean he wasn't a muggle, after all? If he wasn't, then Sirius could think of no reason not to play with him. Grinning, he sprinted across the street. "Alright! My name's Sirius!"_

_ "I'm Walter," said the boy, hopping to the ground and holding the bike out to Sirius. "Here!"_

_Climbing on was harder than it seemed, and Sirius wasn't sure whether he liked the oddly–shaped seat he had to sit on, but he eventually settled in and kicked against the ground to get the bike moving. It shot forward, and Sirius scrambled to get his feet up onto the things Walter called "petals" (Sirius didn't have a clue why; they didn't look a thing like flowers to him). For a few heartbeats, Sirius sailed along, eyes closed happily as the wind ran through his hair. If flying was anything like _this_, then Sirius thought he might well live on a broom as soon as he was allowed one._

_ Then the bike began to wobble, and Sirius' eyes flew open in alarm. Before he could figure out how to stop, the bike toppled over, sending Sirius crashing to the ground, his knee banging hard against the pavement._

_ "Are you alright?" Walter called nervously, running to Sirius' side._

_ Sniffling just a little, Sirius nodded, though he quickly wrapped his hands around his stinging knee. "'m fine."_

_ But Walter had already turned around and begun to run toward Number Ten. "Mum!" he hollered. "Mu-um!"_

_ Sirius scrubbed hastily at his teary eyes and pushed himself to his feet, noticing with some dismay that it wasn't just his knee he'd hurt. His hands were smarting, and a scrape on his elbow oozed blood. But the pain was nothing compared to the panic rising in Sirius' chest. Walter _was_ a muggle, after all, if he lived at Number Ten. Sirius had to get home._

_ But within a few seconds, Walter had returned, a dark-haired woman in tow. She crossed at once to Sirius and wrapped an arm around him._

_ "Are your parents around?" she asked, scanning the street._

_ Sirius timidly shook his head._

_ "That's alright, love. This way," she said gently, and Sirius was alarmed to see that she was trying to lead him toward her house. "Let's get you inside."_

_ Sirius tried to protest – they were gonna take his magic away! – but Walter's mother only rubbed his back and told him she'd have him right as rain in no time. Sirius spluttered excuses and shot longing glances toward the door of Number Twelve, but Walter's mother kept him moving swiftly toward Number Ten._

_ The inside of the muggles' house was nothing like what Sirius had expected. There were no chandeliers, no silver goblets, no house elves. The pictures on the wall didn't move and looked slightly woolly. Instead of torches, yellow globes on the ceiling gave light to the room, and Sirius spotted bizarre muggle devices here and there in the house. He wondered if they were used to steal magic from witches and wizards who, like Sirius, were too stupid to keep away._

_ "Into the kitchen," said Walter's mother. "Set yourself down now, while I get the peroxide."_

_ The questions that rose in Sirius' thoughts – mainly, what peroxide was, and whether it would take his magic away – vanished as he caught sight of a glowing box in the corner. There were _people_ in that box! Actual people (albeit coloured in shades of gray), moving around and having conversations!_

_ Sirius' first thought was that the muggles had somehow trapped those people in the box, and he nearly bolted out the front door for fear of joining them in the tiny, glowing prison. But it soon became apparent that the box contained far more than a few trapped wizards. There was an entire world in there – and _other_ worlds, besides! Even as Sirius watched, fascinated, it became apparent that the people in the box had traveled to another planet, where strange metal beings threatened to exterminate the whole of Earth._

_ It was then that Sirius realized that the people in the box couldn't have been wizards, for even the most powerful wizards couldn't apparate to another planet. And now the people in the box were talking about going to another universe – _another universe_! It was almost too incredible to believe._

_ Walter's mother cleaned the scrapes on Sirius' elbow and knee with a cold liquid that make the wounds burn, but Sirius hardly noticed._

_ "What's that?" he asked Walter once Walter's mother had finished her work and shooed the boys into the room with the glowing box._

_ Walter followed his gaze. "It's my mum's favourite programme. She watches it every week."_

_ Sirius thought of the programmes his mother listened to on their wireless – mostly news reports that Sirius found exceedingly dull. This strange muggle programme was more interesting by far than anything on the Wizarding Wireless Network: the metal creatures had begun to fight each other, and small explosions filled the air._

_ "But what _is_ it?" Sirius asked. "That… box…"_

_ Walter gaped at him. "Hasn't your family got a telly?"_

_ "What's a telly?"_

_ "A television," said Walter. "We've had ours for _ages_! As long as I can remember. I thought everyone had one."_

_ "Not us," said Sirius. They said nothing more for a long while, or at least Sirius didn't hear anything Walter said to him. He was so mesmerized by the programme that he hardly noticed how much time was passing until the strange metal creatures had been defeated and triumphant music blared from the "telly."_

_ Walter stood and stretched. "What'd you think?"_

_ Grinning, Sirius leaped to his feet. "That was brilliant! Will it be on again?"_

_ "Every week!"_

_ "Can I come back, then?"_

_ "Course you can! And when it's not on, we can ride my bike some more."_

_ Sirius wasn't so sure about the bike, but he nodded anyway before saying goodbye and hurrying home. Night had fallen while Sirius was inside Number Ten, and it was with some trepidation that Sirius eased open the door to Number Twelve and slipped back inside. Maybe he would be lucky, and his parents hadn't come home yet. Or maybe they were too busy with Regulus to notice Sirius' absence._

_ As though Sirius would be so fortunate._

_ "SIRIUS ORION BLACK!"_

_ The scream came from the parlour door, making Sirius jump as Walburga emerged, red-faced and shaking with fury._

_ "Where have you been?" she demanded, eyeing him as though looking for any trace of mud or muggle filth he might be tracking into the house._

_ Sirius cringed, trying to think of some story that could excuse his long absence._

_ But Walburga had no intention of letting him explain. "OUTSIDE!" she shrieked, gesticulating wildly toward the dark street visible through the open door. "With the _muggles_!"_

_ With that, she was off, lost in her own anger, ranting and raving about the dangers of the non-magical world, about everything the muggles would do to him, about how she had told him time and again not to go near them. It was the same drivel that, until that day, had terrified Sirius into remaining indoors._

_ Now, however, he didn't care to listen. Curious, he thought, how he'd met two muggles, entered their home, and spent the better part of an hour with them… and yet his magic hadn't left him. In fact, when he finally stumped up the stairs to his bedroom, after enduring half an hour of Walburga's screaming, his magic kindly slammed the door shut behind him._

_ Magic-stealing muggles, indeed. Maybe he ought to have been born a muggle. At the very least, he liked the muggles much better than any witch or wizard he'd ever met._

_-.-.-_

_ Sirius was, of course, forbidden to leave the house without his parents again, or to have anything more to do with the muggles. After Walburga had screamed herself hoarse on the matter, Sirius' father had come in to have a long talk with him about how dangerous and irresponsible his actions had been._

_ Sirius didn't care. For the rest of the summer, he snuck off at every opportunity to play with Walter or to watch the programme about the mad Doctor and his friends. He was caught, more often than not, by his father, or Walburga, or Kreacher, and after Walburga's inevitable, deafening lecture, he was sent to his room without supper, or made to sit in the library for an hour or so. Even Regulus, who sneaked in as usual to see Sirius the moment their father left, seemed alarmed by Sirius' behaviour and begged him not to let the muggles hurt him._

_ None of this deterred Sirius in the least. He had fun with Walter, far more fun than he otherwise would have had. Regulus was fine, for a kid brother, but he whined a lot, or went places with Walburga, or played with Kreacher, and Sirius rather liked the idea of having a friend of his own. And anyway, once he dared to give the bike another chance, he'd quickly mastered the skill of not falling down. As long as he couldn't have a broom to fly, he ought to at least be allowed to ride the bike whenever he wanted._

_ Walburga and Orion were quickly running out of punishments to correct their wayward son, and Sirius was rather pleased with himself for besting them. For all their stubborn pride and hot tempers, they had the creativity of a pair of quaffles. All Walburga ever did was scream at him or, on bad days, take the cane to him. And Sirius knew his father would never do anything more than shut him in the library for an hour or two to 'think about what he'd done' – then leave a less-than-vigilant Kreacher to stand guard, allowing Regulus easy access._

_ Yes, Sirius was confident that he'd endured the worst his parents could throw at him. They could no more stop him playing with Walter than Walter could steal away his magic._

_ What he didn't realize was that his father – who held the last shreds of peace within Number Twelve, who kept Walburga from leaving Sirius on the curb during one of her trips to Diagon Alley, who kept Sirius from running off into the night after particularly nasty rows – was not infinitely patient. And Sirius was quickly approaching Orion's limit._

_-.-.-_

_ "It's appalling is what it is," said Mr. Rosier, punctuating this statement with a jab of his glowing cigar. Sirius caught a whiff of the smoke and coughed. Walburga shot him a glare._

_ Ignoring her, Sirius pretended to be interested in the game he was playing in the corner with Regulus and the Rosiers' son, Evan. Mr. Rosier worked with Sirius' father, and so the Rosiers often came over for tea. Neither Sirius nor Regulus much cared for Evan, but they put up with him because Walburga was even less patient than normal when she had company. Even Sirius tried not to cross her during her social calls._

_ "Couldn't agree more, Edwin," said Orion, ignoring his son entirely. "A mudblooded Department Head! Next thing you know, one of _them_ will be Minister!"_

_ Sirius glanced up curiously. Ever since meeting Walter, he'd listened with bemused fascination to his parents' conversations about muggles and mudbloods – who were, as far as Sirius could tell, muggles with magic. So far, he had heard nothing from Orion, Walburga, or any of their friends concerning muggles that fit with his knowledge of the Sawickis. He'd begun to wonder whether his parents had ever met a muggle, or whether muggles, for wizards, were something like the ghosts featured in Walter's muggle ghost stories: figures from the legends they told because they liked scaring themselves.  
_

_ Mr. Rosier took a puff on his cigar. "The whole Ministry is far too friendly toward muggles nowadays. It will be the ruin of us all, you mark my words."_

_ "I've got a muggle friend," said Sirius with feigned innocence. "His name's Walter."_

_ The four adults turned at once to frown at Sirius, who gave a vague smile. Walburga had gone slightly bug-eyed with the effort of not screeching her disapproval; Mrs. Rosier looked mildly ill and quickly dropped her gaze. Mr. Rosier did his best to mask his surprise and displeasure, but Sirius saw that the looks directed at Orion were now laced with contempt._

_ And Orion… Sirius had never seen his father look so livid. His face was an ugly puce, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. Even when Mrs. Rosier forcibly redirected the conversation onto neutral topics, Orion continued to shoot Sirius furious glares._

_ Sirius ignored the adults for the rest of tea, content to laugh to himself as he thought about how easily he'd knocked the adults out of their reckoning. This was even better than Walter's reaction when Sirius told him he'd be going to a school full of ghosts in a few years' time.  
_

_ After the Rosiers left, however, Sirius' amusement faded as Walburga, predictably, began to rage._

_ "YOU FOUL LITTLE URCHIN!" she shrieked, summoning the cane at once. "HOW _DARE_ YOU!"_

_ Sirius frowned and eyed Walburga warily. In all the years Sirius had been inciting her wrath, she'd never gone for the cane so soon. It only ever came out if her fury outlasted her voice. Suddenly, Sirius wondered whether he was out of his depth. He hadn't thought his comment had been _so_ horrid. All he'd said was that he was friends with a muggle!_

_ "Mum?" Regulus asked, eyes wide, as Walburga raised the cane over her head._

_ Orion grabbed Walburga's wrist to halt the blow, and Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. If his father was stepping in, Sirius might yet come through this unscathed._

_ Walburga sneered at her husband. "Don't stop me, Orion. He—"_

_ "I know." Orion's voice was as steely as his gaze, which slid to Sirius and made the boy shiver. "I'll deal with it."_

_ With a sniff, Walburga whirled and stalked out of the parlour, Kreacher scampering along behind her._

_ Orion smiled thinly at Regulus. "Run along now, Regulus. Your brother and I have some things to discuss."_

_ Regulus was only too eager to comply, and within moments, Sirius found himself alone in the parlour with his father._

_ Sirius snorted. "It was only a bit of fun."_

_ "A bit of fun?" Orion snapped, grabbing Sirius around the elbow and dragging him out into the corridor. "Do you have _any _idea what you've done? What you've cost me?" They'd reached the stairs, and Orion hauled Sirius down – away from both the library and Sirius' bedroom. Orion's grip tightened with each step until Sirius could feel the bruises forming under the man's bony fingers. "Edwin Rosier works under me at the Ministry. He respects me as a champion of the old ways. And now—" Orion gave Sirius a vicious shake as they turned at the landing— "he thinks I let my son, my _heir_, consort with _muggles_."_

_ "So?" Sirius spat, tripping over his feet as he struggled to keep up with his father's rapid footsteps._

_ Orion flung open the door to the cellar and shoved Sirius inside. "Everything you do reflects on me, Sirius. Every mistake you make paints _me_ the fool, discredits me in the eyes of those to whom we owe our power, both within the Ministry and outside it. For you to make nice with a _muggle_, the lowest of the low, is—" Orion shook his head. "It will take me months – _years_ – to undo the damage."_

_ Flashing a cheeky grin, Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets. "You're welcome, Father."_

_ For a moment, Sirius thought his father was going to strike him. Then, with a visible effort, Orion turned his back on Sirius and strode to the cellar door. "I'll be here. Call me when you're ready to apologize."_

_ The door thudded shut behind Orion._

_ "'Call when you're ready to apologize,'" Sirius mimicked, kicking the heavy wooden door. "So, never, then." Scowling, he turned to prowl the room Orion had locked him in. The house at Grimmauld Place was large enough that, although Sirius liked to explore and to find places where his parents weren't likely to bother him, there remained a few rooms he rarely visited. _

_ This cellar was one such room. There was nothing remarkable about it; his parents mainly used it to store furniture and antiques they hadn't yet bothered to move to Gringott's, or were planning to display in the near future, and it was lit by a single lamp burning low near the door. Wardrobes, tea tables, china, and portraits filled the rest of the large, dark space, all immaculate and carefully organized. Kreacher must have spent _ages_ in this room._

All the more reason for _me_ to stay away,_ Sirius thought with disgust as he peered at a silver-handled dagger. He wondered if it had been used to kill someone – a muggle, like as not._

_ Wrinkling his nose, Sirius moved on. There was nothing interesting to see in the room, and even less to do, and he resigned himself to a long wait. It was unusual that his father hadn't told him how long he was to remain in the cellar, but Sirius had never seen his father this angry before. Surely in a couple of hours, once the fury had died down, he would return and give Sirius a long, dull speech about how his actions had been wrong, and his parents were very disappointed in him, and he ought to think twice before he did it again._

_ It didn't take hours, however, for Sirius to hear the rattle of a wooden door. Only a few minutes into his punishment, the sound arose – not, as Sirius had first thought, from the door through which his father had disappeared, but from the sea of furniture. Frowning, Sirius stood to search for the source._

_ After some minutes of wading through stacks of chairs and mounds of silver cutlery and rows of heavy boudoirs, Sirius finally found it: an old writing desk with a cabinet beside the leg-space. The cabinet door shook, as though something inside was trying to get out._

_ Sirius was so used to Regulus' pathetic warnings during his stays in the library that he could practically hear his brother now, telling Sirius to let it alone. Always cautious, always obedient, always well-mannered, Regulus did not like to meddle in matters that didn't concern him. Then again, neither did Sirius. They just had very different notions of what concerned them. Like this desk. Regulus would say that it didn't belong to Sirius, so he should just ignore it. Sirius reckoned that since his father had shut him up in this dingy room for who-knew-how-long, anything inside was fair game for entertainment._

_ Sirius eagerly flung open the cabinet door._

_ At once a chill fell over the room. Sirius felt as though he had swallowed a snitch, which now fluttered about in his stomach as waves of icy dread crashed down on him. The light of the lamp seemed to dim, and Sirius sank to the floor, a heaviness settling in his chest. He felt suddenly as though he would never leave this rotten room, as though he were doomed to be miserable for the rest of his life._

_ A shadow emerged from the cabinet and glided across the floor toward Sirius, who watched with growing dread. Images began to flash through his mind – nightmares he'd had long ago, in which cold hands dragged him into darkness and monsters chased him through unfamiliar streets._

_ "No…" Sirius whimpered, dragging himself backwards, away from the shadow._

_ The sharp, stinging bite of Walburga's cane as she punished him for sneaking out to meet Walter._

_ "Stop it… Stop it!"_

_ Panic that made his heart race as he ran through a thick crowd, screaming for his parents, whom he'd lost in the chaos of Diagon Alley.  
_

_ "No…" Sirius fetched up against the cellar door and clawed at the handle. "Please…"_

_ The images kept coming, sometimes sharp, sometimes hazy. Fear and sadness and pain and loneliness. So much loneliness. Why was he always so alone?_

_ "Help!" he sobbed, shuddering with cold as the shadow continued its slow advance. He could no longer tell what was real, whether he was lost in Diagon Alley or lying awake in a thunderstorm or locked in the cellar with a monster._

_ "Are you ready to apologize?"_

_ The voice was quiet and muffled, all but lost in the endless despair that flowed from the cold shadow._

_ "Yes!" Sirius cried, trembling now so badly he gave up on turning the handle and merely pounded against the rough, damp wood. He huddled against the wall, tears flowing freely. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please…" His breath hitched, and he pounded once more, feebly, on the door, beyond which his father stood, nonplussed. "I'm sorry…"_

_ But the world was fading, and Sirius didn't know whether anyone was coming to save him. The cold stole over him, and the darkness with it, and Sirius knew no more._

-.-.-

It would be years before Sirius learned that the monster he'd faced in the cellar was a boggart taking the form of a Dementor. At eight years old, he'd never seen a Dementor, although he'd heard stories of them, of the terror and despair they spread wherever they went. All he knew was that he'd had nightmares for weeks after the experience. More than once, he'd sat up all night, terrified of the darkness and the dreams but afraid to call to his parents. He wouldn't have called for Walburga, of course, even before that night in the cellar, but back then he had still sometimes found comfort in his father's arms.

But Orion was no longer his father. Not after he'd locked him in with the boggart.

He couldn't say for sure that Orion had known what Sirius would find in the cellar, although he had his suspicions, but it didn't much matter one way or the other. Hardly a week after the incident in the cellar, Sirius and Regulus had had a row. Orion had sent Regulus to the library for one hour, while Sirius found himself in a study on the second floor. Hardly had he stepped through the door when a rattling caught his attention. There, on the far wall, stood the writing desk in which the boggart lived.

Sirius, too scared to move, had spent the hour staring at the desk, waiting for the boggart-Dementor to emerge and attack him.

The writing desk still waited in the study, the boggart rattling about in its cabinet. Sirius privately suspected that Orion and Walburga lacked the skill to exterminate the creature, its one weakness being laughter, but he wouldn't doubt that they'd kept it solely to torment him.

Not that the threat was enough to frighten Sirius into submission. They only let it out when they caught him playing with Walter, so Sirius simply learned not to get caught.

But the boggart punishment wasn't entirely without consequence. If there was one thing Sirius knew beyond a doubt, it was that a real father wouldn't subject his son to that, wouldn't stand on the other side of a door as his son screamed in terror, wouldn't remind him of it every chance he got. After that day, Sirius could never again think of Orion as his father. Sirius was a Black in name only, a stranger in that dark house who couldn't wait until he came of age and was able to leave Grimmauld Place behind him forever.

He hardly even thought about Orion anymore. He would think about Walburga on occasion. They got into rows often enough that Sirius occasionally pondered how best to humiliate her when he finally left home (and every day until then, of course.) But Sirius preferred to act as though Orion didn't exist.

Until today. Orion hadn't crossed Sirius' mind since the boy had returned to Hogwarts in September, but now Sirius couldn't stop thinking about his so-called father. All because he'd found out that Remus' own father was a good-for-nothing bastard who had walked out on his wife and son. No doubt Mr. Lupin thought he had his reasons for leaving, just as Orion had thought he had his reasons for siccing a boggart on his son, but Sirius was sure those reasons were all too selfish and stupid to count for anything. Nothing could excuse that kind of behavior from someone who was supposed to be a father.

"People can be such _arses_ sometimes," Sirius spat to the empty hallway, remembering too late that James had joined him in waiting for Peter to finish the study session with Lynx.

At Sirius' outburst, however, James looked up, bafflement written on his face. "Er… I agree?" he said slowly. "Mind elaborating?"

"Just trying to figure out why Remus' dad would run off on him," said Sirius, avoiding James' questioning gaze. "How a parent could ever be such a complete bastard to his own son." Perhaps he put more venom into this last statement than the situation with Remus and Mr. Lupin warranted. He couldn't help it. All the rage and bitterness he felt toward Orion had been simmering over the past hour, until it finally became too much to keep inside.

But if James noticed Sirius' tone, he was kind enough not to point it out. The two boys lapsed back into silence as the evening drew on, and Sirius slowly pushed thoughts of his family aside. His home life was rubbish; that was nothing new, and he'd long since realized that he'd found something infinitely better at Hogwarts in James and the others. He didn't know if Remus felt the same way, or if his father's betrayal still ate at him, but Sirius figured that between him and James and Peter, they would be able to help Remus move forward.

After all, that was what family did.


	7. Year Two: Nagging Thoughts

**A/N: Set after chapter 17 of _James Potter and the Shrieking Shack _and _Wormtail's Story_ chapter 5.**

* * *

**Nagging Thoughts**

"Sirius? Are you still awake?"

Sirius squinted into the darkness where Peter's bed stood. Astronomy had ended over an hour ago, and the other boys had long since fallen asleep. But not Sirius. Too many thoughts chased each other through his head, and with sleep still a long way off, he'd spent the time watching the faint shadows cast by the full moon as it traveled westward.

It seemed that Peter, too, had been unable to quiet his mind.

"What're you still doing up?" Sirius asked, pushing himself up on his elbows. A few feet away, Peter's silhouette did the same.

"Thinking," said Peter. "About Remus."

"Oh." Rolling his eyes, Sirius flopped back down. He hoped Peter would take the hint and shut up.

As usual, Peter proved to be thick-headed. "You don't _really_ hate Remus, do you?"

"Of course not," Sirius said acidly. "I just _sort of_ hate him."

"Sirius…"

With a sigh, Sirius shot Peter a glare that was no doubt lost in the darkness. "He snitched, Peter. He _betrayed _us."

"He was just trying to protect you."

"That doesn't matter."

Peter was silent for a moment. Then— "How come?"

"Because, Peter," Sirius growled. "His reasons for snitching aren't worth a knut. All that matters is that from now on, every time we tell him a secret, we're going to have to wonder if he's going to decide it's _safer_ to tell the professors."

"But—"

"I don't want to talk about this right now, Pete, so how about you just give it a rest?"

Muttering something Sirius didn't catch, Peter rolled over and, mercifully, remained silent.

"_Thank_ you," Sirius muttered. He yanked his blanket up to his chin and shut his eyes, but sleep was no nearer than before. He'd almost managed to force his mind off Remus' betrayal, but the conversation with Peter had driven his thoughts right back into that same rut. He remembered the professors he'd seen patrolling the grounds, who obviously thought there might be something out there, and the longer he dwelt on it, the harder it became to maintain his skepticism.

It was just the darkness, he told himself, and the fatigue left over from last night. He wasn't thinking straight, and the shadows made everything seem more menacing than it would have otherwise. He would wake up tomorrow and once more be able to laugh at the rumors circling the castle, which had even duped the professors. There couldn't really be any truth to them.

But Sirius had heard it. _Him_. There had been someone else out there in the forest. He tried to convince himself it was Snape, of course. That git would pretend to be a murderer in an instant, as long as it might make James and Sirius squirm.

So why didn't this explanation quiet Sirius' misgivings?

It didn't matter. The issue wasn't whether there was something in the forest; it was that Remus had gone to the professors. Even if he _had_ only been thinking of helping his friends, it didn't change what he'd done, and Sirius was sick of people doing things "for his own good." Most of the time, what _they_ did was worse than whatever they'd been trying to prevent.

How many times had Walburga taken the cane to him for playing with Walter Sawicki or questioning her rants about pureblood supremacy? _Walter's _mum never hit her son. Blood-traitors like James and his family never looked at Sirius like he was a disappointment. What gave Walburga the right to "protect" him from people who treated him better than his own family?

And every time Walburga worked herself into a temper, between scathing insults and bitter accusations, she would screech, "I AM YOUR MOTHER, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!"

Countless times, he'd wanted to yell right back at her, to tell her to stop _calling_ herself his mother and start _being_ one. She treated the word like a charm that would force her sons into obedience – and with Regulus, it usually worked – but she forgot that it was supposed to _mean_ something. A mother was supposed to love her children, not accuse them of being demon spawn. A mother was supposed to kiss their skinned knees and take them out for ice cream, not give them welts and lock them in their rooms.

Yet Walburga claimed she was only doing it to set him on the proper path, to protect him from the dangers of associating with muggles and mudbloods.

Then there was Orion, who once had protected his sons from the worst of Walburga's wrath... until the day he proved himself as cruel and unforgiving as his wife. Even five years later, Orion's betrayal still stirred up a bitter rage in Sirius. His protector had become a tormentor in the name of tough love, claiming that harsher punishment would save Sirius from making more grievous mistakes later in life.

But they were only doing it to _protect him_, so that made everything alright, didn't it?

No, Sirius didn't care why Remus went to McGonagall, although claiming that it was for Sirius' own good certainly didn't help the other boy's case. The simple fact of the matter was that Remus had claimed to be a friend, and then he had broken Sirius' trust.

Sirius didn't know how he could forgive that.

Maybe Remus' betrayal wouldn't have stung so much if it hadn't come on the tail of another. But Sirius was fed up with finding that he'd put his trust in the wrong person. He was tired of being hurt and having to pick himself back up. Was it too much to ask that he be able to let down his guard around his friends? Sirius didn't think so.

Especially now that Sirius couldn't even count on his own brother to stick up for him.

-.-.-

_ "Tell me it isn't true."_

_ It was the first day of Christmas holidays, and Sirius had been up since before dawn, lurking just off the Entrance Hall as students gathered to wait for the carriages. Regulus had showed up around nine with the other first year Slytherins, and it had taken Sirius several more minutes to attract his attention. But finally, with just a few minutes left before the other students would be leaving for London, the Black brothers stood in a nook out of sight of the crowd._

_ Regulus frowned. "Tell you _what_ isn't true?"_

_ "What Snivellus said. Tell me he was lying."_

_ "His name is _Severus_." The frown deepened, and Regulus glanced anxiously toward the Entrance Hall. There was a clamour, and Professor McGonagall announced that the carriages had arrived. "I have to go soon, Sirius..."_

_ Sirius ignored this. He'd been up most of the night thinking about Snape's words from the previous night at the Slug Club event. Normally, he wouldn't have given the Slytherin git's words a second thought, but this time, he couldn't just shrug them off. He had to know if they were true. "He said you didn't want me for a brother." Sirius tried not to sound as nervous as he felt, but there was a tentative note in his voice that he didn't like. "That you'd be happier if I'd never been born."_

_ That caught Regulus' attention. "What?"_

_ "Last night," said Sirius. "I dueled Snivellus—"_

_ "_Severus!_" Regulus snapped, then paused. "Wait, you got into a duel at the party?"_

_ "Yes. He deserved it!"_

_ Rolling his eyes, Regulus crossed his arms in an uncanny impersonation of his father. "I'm sure he did. Sirius, what would possess you to—"_

_ Sirius felt his lip curling with distaste. "Don't lecture me, Reg. I get enough of that from the professors. You're supposed to be on _my_ side."_

_ "Severus is my friend!" Chin jutting out defiantly, Regulus stared at his brother with a rebellious look Sirius knew all to well. Sirius' scowl deepened. "And besides, I can't be 'on your side.' I'm a Slytherin, Sirius! You know I've got to agree with them, at least when anyone's around to see."_

_ "So it's true, then." Sirius' heart contracted painfully, but the hurt was quickly replaced with anger. "You're telling everyone you hate me."_

_ With an indignant pout, Regulus drew himself up to his full height. "I've _got_ to tell them I hate you! What else do you expect me to do when they start harping on you for being a muggle-loving, blood-traitor?"_

_ Regulus couldn't honestly be that thick, could he?__ They were supposed to be brothers. They'd agreed to stick together, whatever the world threw at them._

_ "That you'd stick up for me!" Sirius roared, heedless of anyone who might overhear. The din coming from the Entrance Hall would probably cover his voice anyhow. "Or at the very least that you'd keep your mouth shut instead of _agreeing _with them!"_

_ "_You're_ the one who said I couldn't tell them about us! That I had to pretend to be like them!"_

_ "You aren't supposed to actually_ be_ one of them!"_

_ Regulus let out a humorless laugh. "I'm not the same as __them, Sirius! You_ know_ I'm not!_"

_ "Sure seems that way to me," Sirius said, struggling to reign in his anger before he hexed his brother. "Okay, fine. We can't go skipping down the corridors together. But it's not enough for you to _say_ you're still my brother. How am I supposed to know you're my brother if you never act like it? We haven't even talked in two weeks!"_

_ Regulus' composure finally seemed to be slipping, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what you want me to say, Sirius. I'm sorry? You're the one who told me I couldn't be obvious about this! You said we'd have to keep it secret. You said that as long as _we_ know, it would be enough, that it didn't matter what the rest of the world thought! I'm just doing what you told me to, Sirius, and I'm not going to change now. I can't!"_

_ Before Sirius could respond, McGonagall's voice drifted around the corner. "Last call for carriages!"_

_ "I've got to go, Sirius," Regulus said. "See you after Christmas."_

_ Sirius didn't reach out to stop his brother, who brushed past without so much as a smile. A moment later, the front doors thudded shut with an icy blast and McGonagall's footsteps retreated, leaving Sirius alone in the silence._

_ He leaned his forehead against the stone wall, his eyes falling closed. "Just because I _said_ it doesn't mean I _meant_ it," he muttered. "You of all people should know that, Reg."_

-.-.-

Irritated with the turn his thoughts had taken, Sirius rolled out of bed and stalked to the toilets. Sod Regulus. If he wanted to fit in with the Slytherins, let him. Sirius had his own friends, and he'd hardly noticed that he hadn't spoken to his brother since their row before the holidays.

Well, maybe he _had_ noticed. It might have crossed his mind once or twice.

Scowling, Sirius tore his mind away from his brother. In the mirror, he could see Remus' empty bed, and the nagging thoughts rose to the surface – thoughts that had been festering beneath notions of betrayal and trust. Thoughts that he'd been fighting not to acknowledge all night.

_ The last time we had Astronomy the night of a full moon, Remus wasn't there…_

It was mad, of course.

_ It might've been the first time he went to see his mum in St. Mungo's._

James had only been joking when he suggested it.

_ And now she's sick again…_

Twice in two years. It was hardly irrefutable proof. Pure coincidence, as like as not. With as often as Mrs. Lupin fell ill, she was bound to spend a full moon or two in St. Mungo's. It didn't mean she was a werewolf!

Werewolves lived outside of wizarding society, Sirius know, in the deep woods where not even muggles ventured. They didn't make contact with wizards (apart from the occasional attack). They didn't work in the Ministry or keep money in Gringotts or go shopping in Diagon Alley. Why would one be sending her son to Hogwarts?

Although it might explain why Remus' father had left. (But then, wouldn't he have taken Remus with him?)

Anyway, Remus would've told his friends if his mum turned into a wolf every month. Surely he would've expected them to figure it out, sooner or later, and he wasn't very subtle about going to see her once a month. Why bother hiding the truth from his best friends?

The niggling voice in his head reminded him that Remus had already proven to be a snitch. Why shouldn't he be a liar, as well?

"It's all rubbish is what it is," Sirius muttered to his reflection. "Can't be true. We'd know if it was."

So why couldn't Sirius get the idea out of his head?


End file.
